


Trust

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Blindfolds, Consensual Kink, Explicit Consent, F/M, In which Az is a kinky bat, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Morrigan meets Azriel at a place they use to get away from the rest of the Inner Circle, and Az has an unexpected idea for how they should spend their time – including a blindfold. (Pure smut kink because this is totally something he would do.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Moriel smut week prompt “secret rendezvous” 
> 
> This fic definitely got me out of my comfort zone, but I hope it turned out ok!

Azriel has been formulating this plan for weeks now. 

The particulars begin to take shape in his mind when he sees Morrigan sway into the room that evening, wearing that black dress. It covers her from neck to foot and dozens of small buttons ran down her back. Her hair, usually left in long waves, is instead in a messy chignon at her neck. 

He has been watching her all night, staying in the shadows, as usual, while she plays the diplomat with the other Courts. He knows she is aware of him, that she feels every look, and the tension between them builds as the night wears on, despite never saying a word to each other. 

Waiting in the shadows for her, he runs a strip of black silk through his fingers. They have spoken about this possibility before, but she doesn’t know how seriously he took her willingness. 

His shadows are unusually inactive this evening. They play an interesting role between the two – facilitating communication when they aren’t near each other, alerting each other to when one of them is needed. Mor can usually tell how he is doing and what he is thinking, just by their movement. She had looked for an indication this evening, but there was no sign, no hint as to what is on his mind. She knows that means that he is up to something, probably involving her. She tries to keep a devious smile from the lips she had painted red as she contemplates what he might be thinking. Now is not the time for thinking about him in that way, not when she has a job to do. 

They will see each other later, a plan formed and confirmed earlier when Morrigan looked at Azriel with a glint in her eye, and he nodded his head in a nearly imperceptible motion. 

He watches her place a hand on the arm of the member of some other Court – Autumn, he thinks. She laughs gently at something he can’t hear. Mor seems to have wholly devoted her attention to the lord in front of her, but Az knows she is tracking his movements, trying to figure out what he is feeling. She is good at playing roles – the sympathetic diplomat, gracious hostess, charming princess, understanding friend. 

Her ability to play those roles was hard won, an exercise in survival. The two of them knew that better than anyone. 

Tonight, he is going to make sure she doesn’t have to pretend. She just has to feel. 

Mor leans forward to chat with another High Fae, and as she pulls back to listen to his response, Azriel sees a crack in her façade. She is growing weary of this, and will leave soon. He leaves first, to be sure that he has time to prepare. 

Leaving separately is their usual modus operandi when it comes to these rendezvous. 

They have a townhouse in Velaris that no one else knows about. It had been Azriel’s first, and before they had found out that they were mates, he had revealed it to Morrigan. After a particularly difficult trip to the Court of Nightmares, he had taken her there, flown her in his arms as she tried to catch her breath, calm her racing heart. 

After that evening, it became their favorite place in Prythian. Something they share, where they can be who and what they wanted without interruptions or expectations. Their first night there she had been trembling and devastated, and he had warmed her and comforted her in silence. She might have seemed outgoing and annoyingly full of energy, but he knew that she needed the relief of solitude as much as anyone. 

After that first time, he tried to fill the space with different memories. They had come to an understanding during the following days and nights they had spent there. There would be no unwanted questions, no judgement, and no telling the others. When they had finally become lovers, and then mates, they came up with a different use for the townhouse entirely. 

Morrigan leaves the party, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She finally allows the smile to creep onto her face, the one she can’t control. She doesn’t want to control it. They aren’t able to get away to the townhouse often, and she always looks forward to time away from prying eyes. 

When Mor reaches the townhouse, she enters by the back door. There is no light in the house, but she knows he is already there. 

Azriel has a habit of planning things without informing her. She trusts him completely, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the way his mind works, constantly evaluating and analyzing. She especially appreciates when that mind goes to work thinking about how they might spend their private time together. 

She feels in the silence of the house, in the dark, a tension that she can’t attribute to anything in particular. She wanders the halls on her way to the bedroom, knowing that he wouldn't show himself until he wants to be seen, but searching anyway. 

Feeling a change in the air, she pauses. 

"Az," she calls out, tentatively. She had been so busy trying not to pay attention to him earlier, his shadows giving her no indications of what he was planning, that she still has no idea what could be going through his head now. Perhaps he is tired, perhaps he is just waiting in their room, maybe... She enters their room and frowns slightly when she doesn't see him. The fireplace is lit, but there is no sign of her mate. A shudder of apprehension goes through her. 

With a sudden movement, her field of vision goes dark. She laughs quietly in anticipation, recalling the conversation they had before, when she confessed her curiosity. Sometimes Azriel likes to play games, and a thrill goes through her when she realizes how eager he is to play this one. But of course he would go along with her on this. She reaches up to feel the silk strip of fabric that now covers her eyes, Azriel's breath on the back of her neck, and waits patiently for him to finish tying the blindfold over her eyes. 

"So, you took me seriously," she says huskily, trying to keep her desire contained. Without saying a word, he wraps his arms around her from his position at her back. She breathes in his familiar scent and leans into the warmth that emanates from him. The dress, while beautiful, isn't the most practical for cool evenings. Through her dress and his thin shirt, they enjoy the press of bodies together. It is familiar, comforting, and Mor would have been happy to stay like that. 

Her heart is pounding. Mor doesn’t know how this is going to go, what he is going to do, where he will lead her, how he might touch her. She clings to his strong arms around her, the only thing keeping her still and tethered to reality right now. 

Az remains silent as she tilts her head to give him access to her neck. Softly, he begins kissing her neck and shoulders, hands splayed across her stomach, taking in her scent as it changes in reaction to what he is doing to her. He lifts the knot of her hair from the back of her neck, pressing his lips against her so softly she almost wonders if she is imagining it. Her breath quickens and she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. He pulls her closer, and when she feels the hard muscles of his body pressing against her, she grinds her bottom into his hips. 

"Not yet, princess," he breathes into her ear. “You’ll tell me, love, if you want me to stop. Whatever you need, say the word.” His voice helps to keep her grounded. She is still slightly apprehensive; the trust between them has never wavered, but this… this is something altogether different. Mor nods her head, biting her lip. 

He moves away from her, leaving her stranded in the middle of the room with no idea of where he is or what he is doing, not to mention colder. She takes in a sharp breath of air and swallows, the reality of what they are about to do sinking in. He waits a moment before he makes his next move, giving her time to wonder. 

She feels like she is the only real thing in the world. There is her, and the dress that covers her, the warmth of the fire, and then uncertainty. She shifts in place, swallows loudly, reminding herself of the control she still has over her own body. Her ears strain to hear him, to figure out where he is in the room, but he is too used to this kind of work to allow her to figure out where he is based on sound. He’s just never put this skill to use on her before. 

She is already feeling warmth grow between her legs and she doesn’t know why – he isn’t even touching her. 

On the back of her dress is that column of buttons, and Morrigan feels a slight tug as Azriel unfastens the first one. “Morrigan, may I,” he asks. He continues only after a small nod from her. 

There are dozens of buttons, and she is cursing herself for choosing this dress. She is going to crawl out of her skin if he doesn’t get on with it, while she waits for him to expose her. The only sound she can hear is the crackle of the fire, the fabric as it rubs against the buttons. She clenches her hands into fists, trying to keep herself calm and centered. She’d had no idea how terrifying and exciting this would be. 

When he has finally undone all of them, he spreads the back of her dress open, running his warm hands over her skin. She feels him press his lips into her, along her spine and across her shoulder blades. She tries to lean into him, to grab at him and bring him closer, but as soon as she does he moves away from her. She feels his lips on her back again and tries to turn around and give him some response, only to have him leave her again in that void of space and feeling. 

“Stubborn bat,” she says softly. All she hears in return is a small release of air – what passes for a laugh right now. 

He moves behind her, pressing his chest to her back, and lets his hands slide underneath the bodice of her dress. His hands travel underneath the lace at her breasts, and he runs his knuckles and fingertips over the soft skin he finds there, grazing her nipples before taking them between his fingers. Mor moans loudly, unable to help herself. Her focus goes to the sensation there, her head falls back to his shoulder, and he resumes kissing her neck while his hands keep up their work. She reaches her hands up to his, feeling them move through the fabric of her dress while he strokes her, and she clings to him while she can. 

He knows he has her completely, that he can do whatever he wants without her being aware of his intentions beforehand. It is intoxicating. He holds this knowledge close to him, precious, because he never thought he would have been this close to her. He never thought she would have so willingly put herself in his care. He feels her hair brush his face as she leans her head back, the slight trembling of her body as she struggles between nervousness and desire for him. Watching her try to control herself like this, while her bright red mouth falls open with her moan, it is all he can do to keep from taking her on the bed now. 

With a quick motion, he moves his hands forward to push the fabric over her arms, removing the top of her dress. Sliding his hands over her waist and down her hips, the rest of the dress falls to the floor in a puddle by her feet. He takes her hand, guiding her to step out of it, and she tries to hold on to more of him, unsure of her footing. She clutches his forearm with both hands, suddenly disoriented again without him solid behind her. 

“I’ve got you, love,” he says reassuringly. She stumbles into him and laughs nervously, her breath hot on his face. She places her hands on his chest to steady herself and decides to take charge, as much as she can, for a moment. She kicks off her heels, and once she is free of them, she reaches up to remove the lace around her breasts. That fabric gone, she stands before him, wearing only the lace around her hips and the blindfold around her eyes. 

He stands, staring at her for a moment. Her hair is still up at the nape of her neck, and he takes in her pale skin, pieces of golden hair that have come loose to hang around her face, the rise and fall of her breast. Yet she doesn’t shrink; she stands straight, confident despite her shallow breathing, the slight shake in her hands, trusting him completely with whatever he wants to do with her body. She places her palms on his chest, clinging to him nonetheless. He reaches up to run his hands up her forearms, grasping her elbows. He watches as she licks her lips, a nervous habit. She swallows, and he watches the light play off her throat, sending desire coursing through him. 

He pulls her to him suddenly. He wasn’t supposed to do this, he was going to play with her more, but for this moment he needs to hold her. He kisses her fiercely, one hand on the back of her head and the other around her waist to press her body against his. 

Morrigan throws herself into the kiss, embracing the familiar, solid feeling of him, even if she can’t see him. While he is near her, she breathes him in, as if memorizing this scent and this warmth to keep her steady later on, if only she could keep it with her when she grows nervous again. She is pressing against his clothing and she wishes it was his skin. She moans into his mouth in relief at the contact, but they are nowhere near done. 

He picks her up swiftly, one arm at her back and another underneath her legs. She grabs at his shoulders and presses a kiss into his neck, doing whatever she can to retain some control, to show him how she feels. She feels his pulse beneath her lips and she is satisfied to feel it racing. He lowers her down on to the bed and she stiffens, but relaxes slightly when she realizes where she is. 

This is going to take some getting used to. 

Mor sits up in the bed, half sitting and half laying, not quite sure what to do with her body. Azriel is beside her now and places a hand on her back to reassure her. One by one, he begins to take out the pins that hold her hair in place. When he finishes, she reaches up to loosen the curls and waves from each other. He watches her and can’t stop himself from leaning over to kiss her again. It is soft, and she tries to lean into it but he pulls away. 

Now, he will concentrate on making her feel. 

Putting his hand on her shoulders, he guides her to lay down on the bed. He brushes her cheek with a kiss and she takes a deep breath. Her heart is pounding now, as much from desire as from anticipation. She has the comfort of the bed at her back now, but she still doesn’t know what is going on around her while she lays nearly naked in their bed. 

She listens as he removed the rest of his own clothing, wishing she could watch him, see his body, if he wants her as much as she wants him. She would have to pay him back for this, soon. She resists the urge to raise the blindfold and sneak a look at him. It would break the moment, if she did this. She knows that as much as she wants to trust him, he needs her to trust him and keep the blindfold down, to do what he asks. She has put her faith in him, and while her reasons would have nothing do with lacking trust and everything to do with wanting him desperately, she can’t break. She supposes that soon enough she will be able to touch him. 

The bed shifts as he puts his weight back on it. 

Azriel looks down at his mate on the bed. He is still trying to grapple with her absolute trust in him. It takes his breath away. He had never imagined that he would use his hands in this way, that they could be used to show love, and not just as tools of destruction. That he would have such a creature spread before him. Beneath him. He wonders if he she is struggling with the same restraint, if she wants to reach for him but is holding back. Watching her lick her lips nervously, her hands wandering over the sheets, he sees the evidence that yes – she is trying to control herself right now, just as much as he is. 

She never would have let someone else do these things to her. With her. 

He leans back to lay beside her, propping himself on his side so he can watch her. He takes in the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. None of it is new; he has seen her in this way hundreds of times by now, more, even. Yet somehow, when he looks at her smooth skin marked with small scars and the occasional freckle, he wants to touch her in a way he hasn’t before. He wants to mark the chart of her skin with his tongue and fingertips, to memorize the rise and fall of her curves in new ways. 

He runs a hand up lovingly, slowly, from the space between her legs, across her scarred stomach, over the solidness of her breastbone, her throat, until he rests his fingers on her jaw, holding her face still while he hovers over her. He kisses her, beginning with her jaw, and he moves to her lips until he is kissing her slow, and deep, as if they have all the time in the world. Their tongues meet and she groans as she tries to pull him closer. 

He pulls away from her, pushing her hands down to the bed, and she whimpers. Then, with satisfaction and relief, she feels his fingers underneath the final piece of lace she was wearing, and she lifts her hips as he slides it down her legs, removing it. 

“Spread your legs,” Az whispers by her ear. Morrigan nearly jumps at his sudden closeness, and she is reminded of how he can move. Her heart is racing again at the command, her stomach in knots. She knows he won’t hurt her in any way, but she has never been so willingly vulnerable in her life. 

She does as he asks, her knees in the air, exposed to whatever he wants to do to her. 

She marvels at the newness of it all. It isn’t just the absence of his warmth, but the uncertainty. Left only her senses of touch, taste, and smell, she is forced to guess where Azriel is, what his next move might be. Her sense of sound doesn’t help her, not with him. All she can do is wait, trying to anticipate what he will do next. 

While she waits, every inch of skin on Mor’s body hums, attuned to the mere _possibility_ that he might touch her at any moment. Her nerves feel exposed, raw; she has never been so aware of her body as she is right now. She feels as if they have never been together before. 

Something cool and smooth and soft glances over her stomach. She gasps at the unexpected contact and he can see her features screwed up underneath the blindfold, trying to figure out what he is running over her body. He runs it over her stomach again and smiles softly as he watches her try to piece together the clues. It is cool, so smooth that it glides effortlessly over her skin, there is no structure to it. She realizes that she has felt this before, feels it now; it is another scrap of silk. 

He holds the second piece of silk in his hands. He decides to run it over her body again, seeing where it will evoke a response. He runs it along her ribs first, getting her used to the sensation before he moves on to more sensitive areas. She clutches at the sheets, trying to find something to steady her. He moves the fabric down to her inner thigh, where its coolness has her clenching her toes. 

“Azriel,” she whimpers, half questioning. 

“Yes, princess?” 

“I just… need you to talk to me, or touch me, or something, please,” she begs. She can barely keep herself still anymore, and is going to crawl out of her skin with what she is feeling. She feels him lean closer to her and she grabs at the arm he is using to prop himself up beside her. 

Reassured, she nods her head for him to continue. 

He decides to take it a bit slower, running the silk across her lips first, then down her neck, where she marvels at the way she can focus her energy on this one sensation. He moves the silk over her peaked breasts, brushing around them, circling and serpentine, while she squirms, wanting the fabric to move over her hardened nipples. When he finally gives her that satisfaction she lets out a whimper. 

Suddenly the fabric is between her legs, and Mor writhes in response, concentrating so hard on one sensation that she is startled to discover another. She lifts her hips, but the weight of the fabric isn’t enough to allow any pressure on the area. It’s just a brush, a teasing hint of feeling. 

She clutches at his arm, at the sheets beneath her, trying to stay still so that he won’t stop, waiting to see where he will touch her next. From the blackness she is cloaked in, she focuses her energy on where the silk is, where she thought it might go next. He watched her discover new places and ways she liked being touched, and catalogues them for future use. 

He has never seen her like this. Before, it was comfortable, familiar. He thought he already had figured her out, that he knew how to make her body hum with the slightest touch, but this makes her new to him. He watches as her skin becomes covered in goosebumps, as if every nerve in her body is trying desperately to keep up with him. He runs his gaze over her body, and he can swear she writhes in response to him as much as the silk, as if she has become aware of how he is looking at her. He is taking in her pale skin, the swell of her red mouth from where she has bitten her lips, the moisture that rests on them from her tongue, the concavity of her throat, the gentle slope of her breasts. 

He is done with teasing her. He wants to touch her now. He throws the silk to the side and her breath hitches when she senses the change in him. 

He moves over her, crawling on hands and knees until his weight is over hers. She gasps in surprise and relief when she realizes that maybe now, he will touch her with his hands. His calloused palms will be a study in contrast, after he teased her with that smooth silk. He slowly lowers himself until his weight is on her, and the sudden contact of his body on hers is overwhelming, after she has been noticing absence as much as anything else. She moans as she feels his hardened cock brush against her stomach. 

She reaches down to grab him, but he grabs her by the wrists. Taking her hands, he places them on the headboard, commanding her to keep them there. He won’t tie her there – that might be for another time, she is too on edge now. But he knows that she won’t ruin their fun by disobeying and moving her hands from that spot. 

Morrigan takes a deep breath, content now that he is over her, and grips her hands around the wood of their bed. 

“Morrigan, I am going to kiss you,” he says quietly. She nods. Words won’t come now. 

He leans back and lifts one of her legs, kissing her ankle, her calf, behind her knee and working his way up the inside of her thigh. He is finally allowing himself the pleasure of touching her, and he tries to keep himself in check, to not overwhelm her with his need. She gasps when he bites the inside of her thigh, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave his marks on her. He places her leg so that it leans against his side, keeping it in contact with him as he reaches for the other to pay it the same attention. 

When he reaches her center this time he surprises her by burying his tongue in her without pretense. She gasps and her back arches off the bed at the suddenness of this touch. She is about to fall apart and he has barely begun to lay his hands and mouth on her. 

He sees her hands begin to come off the headboard, and he pauses, waiting to be sure that they are staying where he placed them. Stubborn. He could be very, very stubborn. And patient. When she renews her grip on the wood, he continues to swipe through her folds with his tongue, tasting the wetness that had been building since the moment he had put his arms around her while she was still fully clothed. 

He is curious now to see if she can do what he asked even as he builds her to the edge of an orgasm. He strokes her thigh as he works her sensitive flesh, keeping an eye on her. As concentrated as she is on all the sensations he is heaping her, he wants to take in as much of her as he can: the way her mouth falls open to moan, the way her back arches, her delicate hands gripping the solid wood, the soft silk covering her brown eyes. The taste of her on his tongue is familiar, but he feels a freedom with her that he didn’t have before, especially in comparison to their first tentative forays into making love. 

Then, they had been sure of their love, but unsure of its expression. Sure of their devotion, but uncertain of the form it would take. 

Her shoulders and her hips are the only parts of her on the bed as her orgasm rocks her. She grips the headboard harder, digs her heels into Azriel’s back, lifts her back off the bed as the waves come. He continues to lick and suck at her as she finishes. 

When he is sure she has completed her orgasm, Azriel moves up her body as she shakes, settling his weight over her again. He doesn’t want to lose contact with her again, and he knows that she needs his touch as much as he needs hers. 

He pulls her hands down from the headboard, and for this she nearly sobs in relief. He kisses her, plunging his tongue into her mouth and threading his fingers through her hair, cradling her head. Her arms ache from resting in the same position above her head, and she moves them over Azriel as she adjusts to having the use of them again. If she hadn’t been able to cling to him in this moment she may have gone mad, so she throws herself into the ability to touch him with intense gratitude. She runs her hands through his hair, over the muscles of his back, his neck, wrapping her legs around him in desperation to have as much flesh touching as possible. 

He is pressing her into the bed, enjoying the way that his muscled body dominates her smaller one, the way he feels like he can consume her. His lips move down to her neck and she lowers her own mouth to his ear, whispering his name over and over. He thinks this might be the most perfect moment he has ever known, his love wrapped around him, saying his name like a prayer. 

She changes her chant. She begins to beg for him to enter her, to fuck her, in the same breath that she moans his name, over and over. This is the last thing he can handle, the last straw that breaks his restraint. He reaches down with one hand, reaching underneath her hips to lift her up slightly to meet him. He teases her with the head of his cock before thrusting into her, and the sound she makes is a combination of relief and pleasure that he has never heard come from her before. This, too, he catalogues, to bring out of her again at a later date. 

He chants her name now, feeling her tight around him, her legs refusing to let go of his hips. He brushes her cheek with his knuckles, smooths away hair that has become tangled in the blindfold he keeps on her eyes. While his hips are move against hers his eyes are focused on her mouth and sounds escape from her that she can’t control. 

His voice is a whisper on her face as he speaks. “Does this feel good? I want you to come, Morrigan. Come for me, sweetheart. I want to watch you come.” His thrusts grow more insistent, watching the pleasure on her face while she can only guess at his. Her mouth has fallen open and a steady stream of moans is pouring out of her and she struggles to hold on to him while he pounds his hips into hers. She surprises him by reaching back up to the headboard, gripping it with renewed intensity. Her legs remain wrapped around him, her hips moving with his. 

Azriel sits up, moving away from her one last time. Holding her hips up between his palms, thumbs pressing into her, he watches her body moving before him, watches himself thrusting into her, watches his hand move to stroke her folds as if he can’t control it, can’t keep from touching her. Her head is thrown back as she begins to come, and they both shatter into a mess of hot breath and shaking limbs. 

She needs to come down from this slowly, and so she releases the headboard again, arms stiff and clumsy as she pulls Azriel towards her to feel his skin against hers. He lays beside her, pressing against her, and places a hand on her breastbone, feeling it rise and fall as she regains control of her breathing. After a moment, he speaks. 

“I’m going to take the blindfold off, Morrigan.” She nods, as if she has grown unused to speaking as well as seeing. 

Azriel removes the blindfold and Mor is grateful to find that the only light in the room is coming from the fireplace. He takes her in his arms and she is practically sobbing in relief to have him steady around her as she adjusts to having sight again. For a moment, she closes her eyes and leans her head into his chest, giving herself some control over how she returns to a reality not shaped by him. 

She looks up into his face and searches there, as if she expects to find something different, changed. Likewise, he looks down at her, into her eyes to make sure she is happy, content, that he hasn’t pushed her too far. They don’t speak. They touch one another, as if reassuring themselves of something. When their breaths become calm and steady once more, they shift to lay together underneath the pile of blankets on the bed. Nestled in each other’s arms, they drift off to sleep one after the other, content in the knowledge that their love and trust have never for a moment been misplaced. 


End file.
